Going Buggy in Kentucky
This year we decided to make a brief “snooze” stop on the road trip down. We'd grab five hours of sleep and hit the road again at 6 am.
I told Willy Boy and Kimmer that that shouldn't be a problem because I knew that we can get rooms in the $35.00 a night range. On a previous trip, my father-in-law and I made out fine in these discounted digs.
Willy Boy’s answer to that was, “Well then, I’ll be dropping off you and Sher at that one and heading somewhere else, Jimbo, cuz Kimmer ain’t gonna stay in no $35.00 a night room!”
You see Kimmer is a bit of a stickler for cleanliness, much as she is with her personal hygiene. Her mother carries cleaning products and completely sanitizes her and Uncle Joe’s motel rooms when they travel. So the fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree. You can make Kimmer gag with the most innocent of gross comments. Her favorite response is, “EEEEEWWWWWWWW!”
So I applied due diligence and spent a few hours researching accommodation on the Internet. I was able to find rooms in brand name motels ranging from $75-$110. The problem was figuring where exactly we would be stopping. I knew we could get past Cincinnati, so I listed rooms from Florence to Georgetown, Kentucky.
After a delay at the border we found ourselves passing through Cincinnati at around 11:30 pm, so we settled on Florence, Kentucky for our pit stop. Using our handy-dandy Interstate 75 guide, we knew there was a Quality Inn just off Exit 180 with rooms listed from $65 -$99 dollars. Just what the Doctor ordered.
Kimmer and Jimmer (That’s me!) booked adjoining rooms after speaking to a rather pleasant young lady in the lobby. The place looked suitable and we were surprised to learn that our rooms would cost a mere $51 per night, significantly lower than the price posted on the Internet. The Shoppers decided to walk to the room and leave Willy Boy and me to cart in the “shit load” of luggage.
As Willy Boy and I approached the room, K came running down the hall calling, “Go back! Go back! We’re not staying here.”
From the bowels of the room we heard the longest and loudest drawn out, “EEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWEEEEEEE!” on record.
Kimmer was experiencing grossness overload, no doubt. Her gag reflex would be in high gear.
Fearing the worst, I dropped the bags (Glad I did!) then burst into the room to the cry of, “BEDBUGS! BEDBUGS! LOOK AT ALL THE BEDBUGS, DAD!”
You see, my wife had been trained by my niece, who happens to be a flight attendant, on how to identify the presence of bed bugs in a bed. She found ink-like spots at the tucked corner of the sheets, which, as all of you know, is bedbug “POOP”. Kimmer’s daughter, K, after screaming, applied the second bed bug detection method when she pounded the headboard with her fist.
“Bang, Bang, Bang.”
Bedbugs scrambled everywhere – up the walls, across the head board, over the sheets – as if they were expecting Nuclear Armageddon. It was like observing Circus du Soleil, or the mother of all flea circuses. There was that much freaking activity and movement. I'm sure some of those bugs were being trampled with all the pandemonium I observed.
NOTE: My skin is crawling as I write this.
Thankfully, we were refunded our money. K and the Smurf were scratching themselves constantly, thinking, of course, that they were infested. Willy Boy just teased them even more. He wanted a little payback for the Luggage-gate incident.
Luckily, none of our luggage was brought into our room, because if it had, there would be a good chance that we were carrying a few new passengers to Florida. You know, flea-loaders!
We booked rooms up the road at a brand new Holiday Inn for $110 a pop. Getting to bed at 1 am, we were looking at 4 hours of sleep before we hit the road again. Maybe, we should have driven straight to Florida?
Believe me, none of us slipped between the sheets until Sher did a thorough critter inspection. You couldn't help but think that every itch deserved a scratch and all night long the lights went off and on for frequent bed checks.My daughter, was adamant when she said, “I’m staying up all night and sitting in this chair. And, don’t try to tell me I’m not!”
I didn’t. Why mess with a pit bull with fleas? That would be a double-double when it comes to critter bites!
SIDEBAR: My nephew, who had flown to Florida after his graduation trip to New Zealand and Australia, had a terrible experience. On his last night in Auckland, while staying at a hostel, he was eaten alive by bedbugs. He actually collected some of the bugs in a glass vial and confronted the manager. He was able to get a refund.
However, upon arriving in Saddlebag, Florida, my mother-in-law would not allow him to enter their double-wide until he removed his clothes, showered and had his luggage and belongings fumigated. The poor guy had bites all over his back. And, he was going to sleep in the bed we would use when we arrived in Florida three days later.
“EEEEEEWWWWWWWW!”
Needless to say, we did not tell our bedbug story until we had settled into our rooms at the in-laws. I’m hoping none of the little buggers made the trip by hitching a ride on our shoes, otherwise - Grandma and Grandpa have the COOTIES too!.
Hey, you wouldn't expect anything else at a trailer park, would you?
Gulag Saddlebag
The Saddlebag Resort is a retirement community of Golden Agers. Like many seniors the residents are set in their ways. There are rules on top of rules and a plethora of interpretations thereof. We all try not to ruffle feathers, but inevitably we screw up somehow.
On our very first day there, while walking to the pool, an old fart had this to say to us as he approached us on the same side of the road we were walking on.
“Hey, you`re supposed to walk facing the traffic, you know!” He said this as if he had a mouthful of turds.
My wife, whose wit is sharper than a tack, simply responded, “We are. Because you`re the traffic and we are facing you!”
The look on that old guys face was worth a lottery win to me.
Coming up Next: THE GOLDEN Hemmoroid!